


Uncharted Waters

by bunnycloset



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pirate, Character Growth, Exile, Explicit Language, Family is a choice, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Violence, Slow Build, and the rest of the crew - Freeform, haha see what I did there, the classic combo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:42:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28903572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunnycloset/pseuds/bunnycloset
Summary: Duck. Pivot. Parry.Shit!There’s a sharp sound of scratching metal as my cutlass is tugged out of my grip, and I watch helplessly as it goes skidding across the deck.A cheer goes up behind me as a heeled boot catches in my knee and I flail and fall back onto the deck.Ow.I try to crawl away, but there’s a mast in my way, and I just get myself pinned against it. There’s a gleam off my pursuer’s blade as the tip comes to rest delicately on my throat. I raise my hands slowly.There are yells above us both on the quarterdeck and on the forecastle, egging her on. She grins down at me with an infuriating cock of her head. “Any last words?”
Relationships: Mitch Grassi & Scott Hoying, Mitch Grassi/Scott Hoying
Comments: 5
Kudos: 10





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> And you thought I wasn't doing anything.
> 
> In honor of me probably passing my finals today, I have decided that I will briefly be a generous person and offer a little morsel of what I've been working on. 
> 
> But that's where my generosity begins and ends, so who knows when you'll get more. Mwahahaha! Stay safe! ❤️

_ Duck. Pivot. Parry.  _

Shit!

There’s a sharp sound of scratching metal as my cutlass is tugged out of my grip, and I watch helplessly as it goes skidding across the deck. 

A cheer goes up behind me as a heeled boot catches in my knee and I flail and fall back onto the deck.

_ Ow. _

I try to crawl away, but there’s a mast in my way, and I just get myself pinned against it. There’s a gleam off my pursuer’s blade as the tip comes to rest delicately on my throat. I raise my hands slowly.

There are yells above us both on the quarterdeck and on the forecastle, egging her on. She grins down at me with an infuriating cock of her head. “Any last words?”

“Parlay.”

A boo crescendos around us. 

“Oh, come on,” I yell back. “Like you guys wouldn’t invoke parlay too!”

“Parlay doesn’t mean shit when you’re already facing the captain!” Someone yells. Probably Matt. Fucker.

“I thought you bet on  _ me! _ ” I (do not) whine.

“I’m cutting my losses!” he calls back.

Kirstin laughs above me. “Do you yield?”

I sigh dramatically and nod. “You got me.  _ This _ time.”

“And last time.” She offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet.

“But I won the  _ championship  _ the time before  _ that! _ ” I remind her as I go grab my sword to the sound of coins switching hands. 

Leigh yells out from her perch on the quarterdeck railing, “It’s Darien against Kevin for the semifinals. Winner faces Kirstin for the title!” 

Darien and Kevin take the main deck. I climb up to the forecastle to lean on the railing next to Avi. His rare presence has granted him an excellent spot at the rail, and I am not above wiggling in next to him to watch the next round. 

“You’ll get her next time, Scott,” he pats me on the back.

I laugh. “I’m planning on it.”

Someone clangs a bell and yells, “ _ Fight! _ ”, but Avi turns his head away from the action and peers out at the horizon, turning into the breeze that has his hair billowing away from where it hung over his eye patch. The flapping of the black flag high in the air above us and the rustling of hair and skirts and sails offsets a soft rumble.

“There’s a storm blowin’ in,” he murmurs. 

I follow his gaze out at the dark clouds curling over the cluster of distant islands. “She’s a strong ship,” I tap the railing. “We’ll be fine.”

He hums distantly. “We always are.”


	2. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing schedule? Nah. Only writing when I should be studying? 😎
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not a pirate. I have never been a pirate. I probably will never be a pirate. I am just a nerd with access to Wikipedia and a love for the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack.

Holy shit, it’s nice out. No,  _ nice _ isn’t a good enough word for this. Maybe… maybe  _ spectacular _ . Or  _ magnificent _ . Or  _ extraordinary _ . 

Or maybe it’s a perfectly average day here and I just need to learn how to leave the ship more often when we dock in nice,  _ warm _ places, rather than lounging around and waiting for Kirstie and the gang to get back. There’s a difference between staying out of Kirstin’s way when she decides to sneak around a port, and staying holed up below decks, trying endlessly to decipher any one of the stupid fuckin’ maps.

I really gotta take more of these opportunities to sprawl out in the sand when we end up somewhere where it’s this warm out. Just on the right side of humid where this gentle, cool breeze blowing in from over the cove is delightful, rather than frigid. The repetitive rushing of the waves rolling onto the sand and distant creaking wood further down the shore isn’t exactly something I  _ can’t _ have on the _ Lament _ , but I sure can appreciate it from over here on the beach, too. 

I have my shoes kicked off and an overshirt rolled up and propped under my head. My hands are clasped loosely over my chest, finally able to be relaxed there rather than shading my head from the sun and the  _ blinding _ sparkling from the water, now that the sun is a little further behind the tall, rustling palm trees above me. Now I can just enjoy the toasty sand before it cools too much in the shade. 

Just as long as I don’t fall asleep here. It would  _ not _ be good to be away from the ship if Kirstie came flying back with the Navy on her heels. Again.

Say what you want, but _I_ think it’s perfectly reasonable to still hold a grudge about that. It took them _two_ _weeks_ to pick me up at our rendezvous point. Which I can understand, but it’s the whole “Oh, you would’ve had to be there!” jokes that make them so _insufferable._ At least I learned my lesson about the consequences of thinking you’re faster than the Royal Navy. Or that your friends won’t tease you relentlessly for one _simple_ mistake.

Speaking of the bastards, I let my eyes follow the big, ugly Navy ship lazily making its way towards the opening of the cove leading into St. Catherine’s Isles.  _ Fuckers _ . 

If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times: I’m  _ so  _ glad I ditched the Navy when I did. Before I fully ended up like the other poor Academy recruits, brainwashed by their lies and empty promises of glory and national honor, blah blah blah. There’s  _ nothing _ honorable about what they do. 

What “cargo” they protect the trade of, for the  _ crown _ .

Meeting Kirstin in the Academy—me as an aspiring officer, or rather, a previously aspiring officer now trapped in the service, and her, losing her mind in a rare secretary position that she just couldn’t afford to leave—and slowly conspiring to make off with a ship had been both the most stressful and exciting days of my life.

My reminiscing grin slips a little when I see the seagull racing from the trees above me over towards the distant bustle and yelling signalling a busy market day. I don’t like seagulls. They shit too much, and far too often all over our ship.

Anyways. The day we made off with _The Siren’s_ _Lament_ had been _thrilling_. We hadn’t originally planned to take her, but a slight… incident near _The Weeping Duchess_ had ushered us towards the leaner, lighter galleon, rather than the big, gorgeous frigate.

In the end, it really was a good thing that our distraction technique had, heh,  _ blown up _ so literally right next to the  _ Duchess _ , forcing us to jump on the  _ Lament  _ instead. The  _ Lament  _ was much easier to handle than the bigger frigate would have been with just our initial crew of four—me, Kirstin, and Avi and Esther, a pair of siblings that had just seemed to pop up in the chaos and follow us onto the  _ Lament _ after a quick (and justified) explanation of what the  _ hell _ we thought we were doing. Even so, a tiny crew like ours, even with everything the four of us had to offer from being around the Academy and the ocean, had struggled. A lot.

Things got  _ much _ easier once we picked up Kevin off of Bilajara, Hunk Ben and Darien from Isla Cruces where they had ditched their own ranks and tried to hide from the Navy, Austin from Rocky Port, and Leigh and Short Ben from Tortuga. There are a handful of others too—rotating on and off, some staying longer than the others, and some demanding to be picked up for a reunion the next time the  _ Lament  _ docks near their new home. 

Matt is our latest addition from just a few months ago, when he waltzed straight onto the ship, asked me if this was  _ The Siren’s Lament _ , and announced that he was joining the crew.

Apparently, we’ve made quite a name for ourselves after making off with a hold full of tea, squeezing right between the Navy’s hands as we slid out of Cartagena. Although, I’ve also heard rumors of our technique in shutting down the nasty fucking people selling  _ shithole _ of an East India Company port near Cape’s Bay being… explosive. 

We really gotta stop lighting up barrels of gunpowder before it blows up in our faces. Hehe, pun intended.

Besides, as satisfying as it is to watch a nice, neat stronghold of evil incarnate get obliterated, it’s also  _ very _ satisfying to watch the remains of a governor’s mansion slowly burn to the ground, knowing the humiliating effect it has on the Navy who couldn’t stop us.

To be fair, we’ve only managed it once, but damn that had been a  _ good _ day.

I push myself up so I can stretch my back. Laying in the sand may be warm and relaxing, but it’s not great on my poor spine. 

Ugh, I should probably go back to the ship soon and find something productive to do. I mean, I can always chill over here tomorrow again, given we manage to stay in port overnight. 

I glare at the Navy ship lazily bobbing its way closer across the cove and give them a clean scowl. They couldn’t just take a  _ week _ off and let us have our fun here? Just once? God, I might only get one afternoon on this beautiful, wide expanse of soft sand because—because of...

_ Huh _ . 

That’s odd. 

There’s a—I don’t know—a thing? In the sand down the beach. Tucked between this big pile of rocks and the edge of the surf. If I wasn’t just  _ specifically _ glaring down the coastline at the Navy ship, I might not have even noticed it. 

I squint at the little blue thing between the rocks harder. It just barely peeks out from behind that massive cluster of boulders, but it’s such a rich sapphire color that it has my mind drifting towards thoughts of maybe a discarded gown? It could have gotten to the beach, down the coast, away from the harbor town and the rich, snobbish people controlling all the trade in the area…  _ somehow? _ Maybe a beach party gone wrong? Or a nearby shipwreck?

Screw flipping through books and maps, now I’m  _ excited. _ Fancy colored dresses means  _ expensive _ fabric—which either means we could sell it for some good money,  _ or _ if we’re lucky and it’s the right size, Kirstin can wear it on whatever raid we plan next. She  _ does _ love the more elaborate disguises—claims they make infiltrating merchant’s manors and governor’s parties all the more “elaborate”, and “risky”. 

My heart starts to pick up at my random spark of luck. Hopefully the gown hasn’t been ruined by the water lapping at the ends of the fabric, though. Now  _ that _ would be disappointing. 

I shake the sand out of my overshirt before slipping my sandals back on and starting the arduous task of picking my way along the shoreline towards the rocks. I can’t stop myself from glancing back every now and then to make sure no one from the dock has spotted me creeping along the treeline of the otherwise deserted beach. 

This dress will be  _ mine _ , not some random kid’s, who thinks they can wrestle it out of my fingers. Or some little Navy shit’s, who could be prowling around the docks, looking for—well—someone like  _ me _ doing something like  _ this. _

Our ship is well disguised; no one will suspect a thing as long as we lie low in town, and hopefully no one will remember us even after our getaway in a day or two—once Kirstie gets her hands on the governor’s wife’s jewels. I huff out a short laugh as I approach the rocks. It definitely wouldn’t do us any good to have to abandon our plot to take the time to break me out of jail (again) for getting arrested over some lady’s missing  _ dre _ —

What the fuck.

I jerk to a halt as I round the edge of the boulder cluster. 

_ What _ the fuck. 

That isn’t a gown. 

Because—because that is a _fucking_ _mermaid_. 

Short, dark brown hair. Tanned, olive skin. Long, deep blue  _ tail.  _ A classic mermaid.

What the  _ fuck. _

I am suddenly _horribly_ thankful that I stuck to the treeline rather than wandering way down closer to the surf on my way over here. Because—because _that’s_ _a mermaid._

The mermaid hasn’t seen me yet,  _ thankfully. _ She’s clearly preoccupied with something else, with her head tucked away from me and sand coating her skin and tail and hair and— 

I can’t move. Can’t run.

I’m just standing frozen, trying to do my best to imitate one of these trees and hoping that maybe I can melt right into them, or maybe wake up back in my hammock on the ship and not be staring,  _ alone _ , at a  _ mermaid _ wriggling around in the sand.

What the hell is it— _ she _ doing here? Where are the others? Shouldn’t she know better than to not go lay  _ alone _ on a beach, just a few minutes’ walk from a  _ very _ busy port? In a  _ Navy controlled sea port? _

Oh shit, but what if this is a trap and the mermaid is just a _distraction_ so the others can _sneak up on me_ _somehow_ and shit _I need to get out of here_ thank God _thank fucking God_ I’m up by the trees _but_ —

But wait—something’s wrong with the picture.

It only takes me a moment to recognize the netting twisted around the mermaid once my panic-addled brain calms enough to actually register the familiar sight. I’ve seen it enough with turtles or sea birds, and it’s not a difficult fix. Well, it’s not a difficult fix when I have a knife and I couldn’t technically be considered a form of  _ prey for the tangled up creature _ . 

I should just run. I  _ need  _ to run. Get away from here and stop staring at how the mermaid’s tail is twisted at an odd angle that has got to be excruciating, although it’s not like I know very much about how flexible  _ mermaid tails  _ are. 

And—and fuck, one of her arms is pinned to her back, yanked behind her by the tight rope. It doesn’t look like the other arm is much help to her either, considering it’s also definitely tangled up and buried underneath her in the shifting sand. If she would stop squirming, the sand would probably stop shifting and she might be able to calm down enough to figure out a solution, but instead she seems to be stuck in a frenzy while she fights the netting. 

Fuck. 

_ Fuck, _ I should help, shouldn’t I?

But it’s not like I can go back to the ship and ask anyone else for help. Most of the crew won’t be back till evening, since we only  _ just _ got to port yesterday and haven’t been found out by the Navy yet. And I can’t just sit around and wait for them to get back knowing that the mermaid is trapped here, probably hurting herself even worse as she tries to escape. 

But approaching the mermaid alone is a  _ terrible idea _ . Like, one of the worst ideas I’ve ever come up with. And I’ve nearly gotten myself hung a few times by coming up with stupid enough ideas that I’ve landed myself in the hands of the Navy. 

If I was even  _ somewhat _ interested in possibly getting mauled or eaten alive, maybe I could just stroll up and see if I could untangle any of it with my hands. But seeing as I didn’t bring a knife with me to just  _ casually nap on the beach _ —wow, my day went wrong fast—and I  _ don’t _ really want to go on a suicidal mission to help a _ mermaid _ free herself from a classic Navy trawl net blunder, I can just go ahead and veto that option, too.

...So what do I  _ do? _

The mermaid’s squirming manages to roll her onto her side a bit better, and a quick gasp tears itself out of my throat as I realize— _ oh _ , not a mermaid. 

Mer _ man _ . 

The resulting pathetic choked sound I failed to silence must have been just a  _ tad _ bit too loud, because the merman’s head snaps around towards where I’m still standing dumbstruck, and we both freeze.

_Shit_ _shit shit shit_ —

Our eyes are locked, and I have tunnel vision, and—and I could almost swear, that for just a split  _ second _ , that the merman looks afraid. 

Of  _ me _ . 

But then his eyes narrow and his lips curl up into this snarl that has me just about shitting my pants even from  _ yards _ up the beach, and a dangerous, low hissing sound pierces through the air—

And every hair on the back of my neck, my arms— _ fuck— _ stands on end at that sound. It’s like my very skin itself is trying to peel away from me, and I don’t really blame it.

The snarl is a dare to come closer, to just  _ try  _ to touch the merman, and I am very assuredly  _ not _ interested in taking him up on that challenge. My survival instincts are  _ screaming _ at me to run and never look back—

And so I bolt. 

Back down the shoreline, I try and  _ definitely _ fail to walk casually back to the ship across the docks—definitely look  _ way _ too suspicious but thank  _ fuck _ there’s still no one here—scamper up the gangplank, somehow remember not to trip on the lip at the top, slide my way across the main deck, skip steps up to the quarterdeck, and stumble into the captain’s cabin with just barely enough grace to dive into the hammock in the corner of the main room. 

Holy  _ shit _ .

I need to stop panting before I hyperventilate. My heart is pounding in my chest as if it wants to burst out and keep running, just in case.

Alright, alright. Just breathe for a minute, then process. 

Deep breaths, no more shaking.

There was a merman on the beach, and I walked away unscathed. Well, ran. Same thing, basically. 

I’m back on the  _ Lament _ , just about as safe as I can get, but… But what am I supposed to do now? Just… forget about it? Never go back to the beach, or  _ any _ beach maybe, just to be safe?

But... Ugh, the beach had been  _ so _ nice before. Okay fine, so I’m not ditching  _ all _ beaches. Besides, what are the odds I’m ever going to see another mermaid—or merman—again?

Maybe… I swing the hammock a little with my foot, propped on the wall. Maybe I should just go... work? Do something productive? Distract myself? It’s not like I’m in danger anymore.

There’s always some kind of repair to be done on the ship, or maybe Avi would like some help organizing yesterday’s haul of food and stuff. I should go help with something. Get my mind off the merman. Still on the beach... where the Navy could get to him… 

Fuck. And everyone knows what the Navy does to mer. Which I’ve been granted a horrific handful of personal observations of, with my few shitty years in the Academy and whatnot. (For the millionth time, thank  _ God _ Kirstie and I booked it out of there while we still could.)

I roll myself right back out of my hammock despite my muscles protesting the lack of a break, and I pause next to the large dining table in the center of the room laden with books and maps and charts.

I _could_ try to read a bit of that one new navigation book we picked up—where did I put it—oh, right here. I tug it out of the stack of books, and just the cover boasting the loopy words _Celestial Navigation for the Experienced Seaman by Commodore Mitchell Grassi_ has me just about gagging from boredom already. 

You know what, I’m actually glad that old Grassi guy finally died, ‘cause I don’t think I could take any more of his  _ “In my days at sea” _ s, or “ _ my fine years in the Navy taught me _ ”s. I think I’ve read so many of his shitty books that I could retell his life’s story off the top of my head. But I still couldn’t tell you how to read the stars, or a map, or anything about the sun and angles, etc. Bleh.

I drop the book back onto the table. Executive decision: no reading today. It’s been a long day already, and I’m not making it longer with Grass-hole’s books. No reading, no beaches, no thinking about mermaids. 

Avi’s my next distraction technique, so I force myself back outside. I successfully avoid looking over towards the beach as I cross the quarterdeck and descend down to the main deck. 

The door to the kitchen is on the main deck, on the wall under the quarterdeck. We’ve done loads of remodeling on the  _ Lament,  _ and so we’ve turned the rooms under the quarterdeck into a kitchen and a large dining room for the crew to hang out and snack in. 

I open the door leading down, and take the few steps to the short corridor a bit too fast for the perfectly timed wave hitting the ship. But whatever. I’m fine, the door I crashed through is fine, and these boxes were never going to stay nicely stacked, anyways.

I still glare at them a healthy amount while I stop to shove them back into place to the sound of Avi’s laughter down the hall.

I’m going to get teased for this. I almost consider going back to the beach to avoid it, but I’d rather take a few minutes of Avi’s bullying than _ that. _

I will  _ not _ be going to risk my life just to piss off the Navy and prevent them from getting their nasty fucking paws on  _ one _ victim.


	3. II

I am absolutely risking my life just to piss off the Navy and prevent them from getting their nasty fucking paws on one victim. 

I’m scowling at myself so hard I’m going to leave permanent marks as I trudge through the wet sand. I should’ve just done this  _ yesterday _ while it was _ nice out _ . It would have saved me the pain of laying awake half the night, glaring at the flickering lantern out my window and ignoring Kirstie’s faint snores in her room on the port side of the captain’s cabin. Oh,  _ and _ it would have saved me the pain of pulling my feet through the sinking sand and blinking the drizzling rain out of my eyes.

And I  _ definitely _ should have told someone where I’m going this time. 

_ Whatever _ . I’ll be back before Kirstin and Matt get back with that opal necklace thing, and we can sail right out of the cove, and I’ll never have to see the merman again, and no one will need to know that I’m being a  _ fucking idiot _ and doing  _ this _ with my free time, and it won’t be my problem anymore.

I slow my grumpy march when I near the boulders. The little outcrop of blue from the merman’s fins floating like a dress in the surf from yesterday is gone. 

Maybe he already got free?  _ Ugh,  _ I’m still going to check though.

I peek around the boulder carefully, just in case something springs out at me. I wouldn’t want to startle him, if he’s still here. Although, I couldn’t exactly have been subtle, groaning my way down the beach, cursing and growling at the quicksand-like sludge under my boots. 

The knife in my hand probably wasn’t very subtle before on the dock to anyone who saw me  _ there _ , either. 

As my eyes clear the rock, my stomach drops with the sight of, not an empty patch of sand like I’d hoped, but a half-buried, worryingly still merman with his back turned to me. The tide overnight and the rain must have washed the sand over the merman, because I can really only see his head and the top of his torso in the sand. The tail is almost completely buried, with just a sliver of deep blue peeking out at his waist.

Damn it. It really would have been nice if he’d just kinda… figured it out on his own. 

The merman flinches just slightly when I step out from behind the rock and take a cautious shuffle forward. His head tilts up out of the sand slowly, just enough for their one not-buried eye to crack open. 

I watch carefully, fingers tightening around the knife handle, as the merman lets out a half-hearted growl. The poor creature must be exhausted though, because his head immediately thunks back down in the sand. I’m not sure if I imagine the faint whimper or not, but that _ isn’t my issue right now.  _

I’m here to make sure the Navy doesn’t get the merman,  _ not _ to make a friend. 

I kneel down slowly next to him with my hands clearly in view for the one eye still peering up at me. The merman doesn’t make any sound this time. Instead, he seems to shrink down and press into the sand more. 

I glance at my knife.  _ Right _ .

Okay, but it’s not like I have another solution. He’s just gonna have to deal with it. 

Step 1. I bite my lip as I study the taught netting. What’s step 1? 

The net is tightly woven, and digging into his skin—and I can clearly see the red lines and bruises from the shifting rope over the night. And a little bit of what looks like dried blood around the edges.

Fuck, how should I do this? Maybe… maybe cut through the top? Make an opening down the middle for him to wiggle out of? Yeah, yeah that could be step 1. 

Step 2 is—get the arms free, and the tail, too.

Is there a step 3? Um, get him in the water? No way—no. I’m not carrying him.

I will figure out step 3 later.

I take a breath to calm my nerves (right, like that’ll help at this point) and turn the knife slowly so I can pull the netting up through the serrated edge. The merman is still watching me through the one eye, and—and he’s definitely starting to shiver now, I realize. That’s not  _ great _ , but as long as he doesn’t start trying to fight me, it should be fine. I’ll just have to be extra careful with the blade so a stray jolt doesn’t slice into him.

I reach out to the merman’s shoulder where the net is cutting into his skin and try not to touch him when I pinch the rope and tug it up, testing the give. I must just barely brush the merman’s shoulder though with my finger, because the horrid flinch and wet gasp—well, it makes me very glad I hadn’t had the knife closer.

I try to ignore the shaking and just focus on my task. When I worm the knife under the rope at his shoulder to pull through the first line, the merman’s eye pinches shut and he seems to hold his breath. 

It’s not difficult to start a steady rhythm once I stop  _ staring _ at the rope digging into their skin. Just pinch, tug, snap. Repeat. 

Pinch, tug, snap. Pinch, tug, snap. Pinch, tug, snap. Pinch, tug...

A voice filters slowly through my focus when his torso is about half-way freed. I think for a second that it must be him, but—no, it’s  _ me _ . 

I’ve been talking quietly to the merman under my breath, just muttering little things like, “Hold still, stop wiggling, I’ll be done soon,” and probably more stuff that—that doesn’t exactly sound very reassuring, come to think of it. 

I try to switch it to stuff that’s more like “I’m not going to hurt you” and “I’m just cutting the net”, but it doesn’t really seem like the merman is listening to me. Hell, I don’t even know if he can understand English. (Literally, why do I even bother?)

At the very least, it seems like the merman is relaxing a little bit, or letting out that breath they’ve been holding. The eye doesn’t open again, but maybe that’s better for me. 

I  _ am _ dealing with a merman that could potentially grab me, drag me into the water, and slowly watch me drown—while also biting chunks out of my flesh. Not that the possibilities have been haunting me for a full day or anything.

I feel bad acknowledging how popping through the little pieces of rope is kind of satisfying. Maybe it doesn’t sound as bad if I add that It would be nicer if it wasn’t still drizzling? Because the sand is  _ really _ starting to get soppy and sludgy and sinky and— 

_ Ah shit. _

It’s like suddenly being consciously aware of the rain makes it rain harder. I glare up at the sky and wish bad things on the clouds. 

Looking back at the merman, I sigh. I’m going to have to pull them up out of the sand now, since they’re so buried already. I’d never have been able to free their tail without moving them up anyways, so really, the rain is just speeding up the process. But still…

I don't really want to touch the merman any more than absolutely necessary.

I’ve gotten the majority of his torso free, but his arms are still pinned and I can’t tell how badly the—his tail is tangled yet. I  _ have _ to pull him up. 

(I should have asked someone to come with me.)

I hear myself say something about “sorry but I have to”, my mouth still clearly running with its own steady dialogue outside of my control. The merman doesn’t respond. Maybe he’s listening now though, because he tenses again.

I set the knife behind me on the boulder where no stray hands—mine or the merman’s—could snatch it up too quickly. I twist my fingers into the netting on both sides of the merman, trying to keep my hands away from his skin as much as I can, and tug upwards like he’s in a little—what are they called—a  _ taco. _

Oh,  _ yes! _ It’s working! 

His tail is lifting up out of the muck and I can see the rich, deep blue again, but then— _ no,  _ wait-—the merman makes a choking sound and starts thrashing so much I drop him back into the sand. 

At first I try to lean out of the way and avoid the frenzied tugging and squirming he’s doing—trying to free his arms, I think. It takes me _way_ too long to realize that the choking sound and the frantic struggling was because _the_ _merman was choking._

_ (Fuck shit shit what did I do?) _

Thank  _ fuck _ I’ve already pulled him up as much as I did before I dropped him, because I must have shifted him around enough to free his head  _ and neck _ from the sand. And now I can see the end of the net pulled tight around his  _ neck, _ rather than around his  _ shoulders _ like I’d previously thought when I couldn’t see that there was  _ more netting _ .

If I had to guess what’s coming out of my mouth  _ now _ as I grab for the knife, it would probably be more of the “ _ fuck fuck fuck fuck _ ” variety. Thank God I’m practically a net-cutting master at this point. 

I don’t mean to touch the merman’s neck when I yank the shredded rope away, but I just brush his skin in my haste. But no additional thrashing or hissing or fighting or attempted biting seems to be prompted by my mistake. That’s… worrying, honestly. Relieving, but worrying. 

The merman just sucks in a long, ragged breath, and collapses against the sand again. I stop my hand halfway on its path towards his shoulder, instinctively going to ask him if he’s okay. 

I’m not going to keep pushing it. The carefully steadied breaths, closed eyes, and slight, continued shaking is plenty enough of a deterrent for me. So back to cutting the net I go.

I work as fast as I can to free the merman’s still wrists, eyeing them cautiously when there’s still no movement, or even acknowledgement of their newfound freedom. 

When I get to the top of his tail—just the portion peeking out of the sand, since I’m  _ not _ very interested in trying my taco-lift strategy again to free more of it—I manage to cut through a few strands before the merman tenses suddenly.

“Hey, I’m almost done—” I start, but I trail off quickly and scramble back when the merman sits up abruptly. 

I stop with my back pressed against the boulder behind me, and he sits like a statue, staring at me with the net pooling around him. Our eyes meet, and my stomach drops right back down into my toes— _ why the fuck did I think this was a good idea _ —

But then between one blink and the next, the wide brown eyes are gone, and I’m staring at a phantom image of his face while my brain tries to catch up with his movement.

I stare dumbly down at the sand where I can still sort of see the last flick of the deep sapphire blue where the merman’s tail flicked—when,  _ how _ did he turn around so fast—and I see him sliding into the shallow waters and then—gone.

I lean back against the boulder. My eyes drift down towards my knife. The few shreds of net laying in the sand. The little patch of red that must be from a raw patch of the merman’s skin, torn open by the rope and their thrashing. 

I turn towards the water again after a few carefully steady breaths, trying to spot any sign of the merman, or maybe bits of net still tangled in their tail, but nope. He’s gone. I just sit there for a while, pathetically squinting through the rain, until my stomach suddenly grumbles freakishly loud. 

Lunchtime, then.

I snort as I pick myself up out of the sand, and half of the sand comes with me. Just another day in the life of a pirate, huh?


	4. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ☠️+🌈=👌

What the fuck is this even supposed to mean. How am I supposed to know what a “rise star” is? More importantly, how am I supposed to  _ find  _ one?

I drop my forehead onto the book and groan. You would think—you would  _ think _ that  _ eventually,  _ at least  _ one _ person on the  _ Lament  _ would figure out how the hell you can navigate a ship.

I mean, sure. We’ve got compasses. We know the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. We can turn the ship and follow little islands or a coastline to different towns. But at night, in case it hasn’t been clear, you can’t exactly  _ use the sun _ . 

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

At least  _ this _ book is written in English. 

Okay, we only buy (or steal) books about this written in English. We aren’t  _ that  _ desperate. Yet. But my point is, I can kind of basically  _ almost _ understand this one because it’s not stuffed to the brim with super specific terms and complicated equations that  _ yes,  _ the mathematicians who are probably the target audience can understand, but not like. Me. Or apparently anyone else on board. 

There. I said one, semi-complementary thing about Commodore Bitchell’s book.

I sigh and pick my head up as I feel the ship roll particularly hard. At least it isn’t raining today? It would be nice if the wind would die down a bit though. Like, a lot, a bit.

Today is our fourth day in port. If we make it past sundown, it’ll be a new record for hours in a royal port without Navy interaction.  _ But _ if we make it past sundown, we’re gonna have to try to navigate out in the dark. 

And we  _ will _ be leaving today. There’s absolutely no way we could make it till tomorrow—not with Kirstin and Matt still sneaking around for that necklace. 

But until they get back, (hopefully without any Navy dicks on their heels), I’m stuck doing this. Reading the goddamn book.

I try to make it through another sentence before the looming urge to quit becomes too strong, and I stubbornly read the sentence four more times before I accept that I have no idea what it says, and have no intentions of reading it a fifth time.

I slam the book shut and wobble my way into the kitchen from my corner in the dining room. Avi is leaning against the short counter with his arms crossed, just waiting, when I stagger in.

“Creepy,” I note as I brace an arm against the wall.

Avi shrugs. “I figured all the groaning heading my way could only mean one thing.” I raise an eyebrow. “Reading a Grassi book again?”

“Reading a Grassi book again.”

Avi chuckles. “Still nothing? No miraculous breakthroughs yet?”

“I swear it’s not actually a real thing you can do. Navigating is actually impossible and some people just have a compass for a sixth sense.”

“We have plenty of compasses.”

I glare at him. “Yeah, but do we know how to figure out where we  _ are?” _

“We would if a certain someone could decipher a single book already.”

I gasp dramatically and press a hand to my chest. “Bitch!”

Avi mimes tipping an invisible hat and goes back to the potato slicing he must’ve paused while I stumbled in. How the hell can he do that while I’m barely standing upright? 

“Where did you get your sea legs from?” I eye the blade slicing through each potato cleanly. “My brand seems to be deteriorating.”

Avi snorts and doesn’t bother looking up. “Your sea legs are some of the best I’ve ever seen. It’s just windy today.”

I react maturely by sticking my tongue out at the top of Avi’s head. A middle finger is raised in my direction. 

“To reiterate:  _ bitch.” _

Avi finally looks up at me again and wiggles his eyebrows. “Yours truly!”

“I would  _ never,”  _ I pretend to gag.

A snicker. “Need I remind you of Jon? Or Braden? Or Mark? Or Chris? Or Mark  _ and _ Chris—”

I throw the potato back at him. “I should go ask Esther for embarrassing stories about you. Just to even out the playing field a little.”

“Good luck getting anything out of her. I have no flaws. I am perfection.”

I reach forward so I can grab another potato. Which I promptly throw at Avi again.

“You leave my potatoes out of this or you’re not getting anything  _ but _ potatoes until we resupply next.”

“You wouldn’t  _ dare.” _

He looks way too smug for this to be fair. “If I can keep up with Kevin’s ‘swole diet’ then I can keep up with your potato diet.”

My wonderfully phrased and well planned response is cut off by another sharp roll, knocking me sharply against the wall.

“Saved by the wave.”

Now I don’t  _ typically _ pull rank—and why would I need to?—but I might just go find the chore schedule and add Avi to a few more night watch shifts. It’s one of the rare times—minus the occasional sword fighting competition—that he’ll come above deck. He doesn’t like to overstrain his eye, seeing as he’s just got the one. 

Avi takes a break from his little pile of diced potatoes to actually look up at me again.  _ God, _ he’s so much less infuriating when he isn’t  _ also _ showing off his perfect balance and casual dismissal of the waves. “If you’re looking for something to do, you could go see where Austin is at. Matt brought back some new parts for the broken port cannon last night, and I think they’re working on repairing it right now down on the gun deck.”

I stick my tongue out one more time, just for good measure, before carefully making my way back through the dining room and down more steps to the gun deck. 

Austin and Darien are standing next to our bad cannon while Leigh kneels on the floor with her back to me, glaring at it and the chunks of metal spread across the floor that could probably be identified as important pieces of cannon—if I could identify more detailed pieces of a cannon than the fuse and the barrel.

(In my defense, I am a quartermaster. I am not, and have never been, a gunner. Also I stopped paying attention in the Academy  _ fast.  _ Looking back, I probably should have at least tried to remember what they taught us about sailing, instead of exclusively folding textbook papers into nice little triangle figures that can soar through the air and into the back of peoples’ heads.)

Darien wobbles over to me and grabs onto the same post that I’m clinging to. “Bored of the books already?”

I stick my tongue out at him. “Do  _ you  _ want to try reading them?” 

He snickers and shakes his head. “I think I’ll stick to my humble swashbuckling life, thank you very much.”

I sigh dramatically. “No one loves me, I swear.” He rolls his eyes, and even Leigh takes a moment to look over her shoulder and nod sarcastically. “How’s cannon repair going?”

Darien gestures with his hook at something Leigh is fiddling with and Austin is frowning at. “Austin thinks there’s something wrong with the fuse, and Leigh’s been digging around in there for a bit now. We’ve figured that the barrel must’ve been jolted more than we thought from the last explosion,” (turns out, too much gunpowder  _ is _ a thing), “and something must be dislodged or maybe completely vaporized. Who fucking knows anymore.”

I bark out a short laugh. “Well, it’s a start. We can’t go back to punching holes in Navy—”

A particularly hard toss of the ship has Austin grabbing at the wall and Leigh grabbing frantically for our—fuck—rollaway cannon. I push myself off the pillar to stop it before it picks up speed and takes out a wall or God forbid, another cannon. Austin and Darien manage to grab at it after a moment of balance-recalibration, and Leigh loops one of its unclipped chains around a wheel so it can’t roll anywhere else.

“Maybe we should wait until it’s a bit calmer out before we unchain cannons for delicate repairs,” Austin muses.

“We’ve got a genius on our hands, today!” I announce in a mock impressed voice, which earns a snicker from Leigh. 

“Can you guys push it back towards me, and I’ll lock it in pla—”

A shout cuts Leigh off from above us.

“Captain’s back!”

_ Great _ . Just  _ perfect _ timing, Kirstie. I guess cannon repair is gonna have to wait for another day.

There’s a moment of silence as the cannon is held steady and we all stare at each other, waiting for—

“Gotta move!”

I break into a grin.

And we snap into action. Darien and I take the stairs two at a time back up to the main deck, while Leigh and Austin scurry to lock up the cannon with four hands instead of eight.

The chaos of getting a ship ready to sail in just minutes is very different now than it had been those first few times. I squeeze myself past the team pulling the gangplank up off the dock, and duck under the flash of ginger hair that is Short Ben crawling his way up a net towards the crow’s nest, pausing to untangle ropes on his way. A rough wave tosses me next to Matt, tugging on winches to secure the sails, but I frown and reach out to tug on one rope too, because we needed to  _ unfurl _ the sails to  _ go _ anywhere, but he’s not doing that—

“ _ No,  _ Scott!” Kirstin is suddenly next to me, a whirlwind of high ponytail and cinched up skirts and worry, tugging my arm away and yelling up at me through the other shouts across the main deck and quarterdeck and down from Short Ben, trying to balance carefully on a beam above us. “The wind, dumbass! It’ll blow us right back into the shore and beach us!”

...Oh  _ shit.  _

I look out at the Navy ship, upwind to us, lazily on an obvious path to intercept us. With the entrance and  _ exit _ to the cove behind them. Upwind.

_ Fuck. _

So much for a dramatic gunfight as we make another miraculous escape.  _ Any  _ escape will be miraculous today.

We stare at each other for a long, horrible moment. And then I sprint up the stairs to the quarterdeck and up the next flight above the captain’s cabin to the poop deck, where Esther is already waiting with her hands on the wheel, while Kirstie runs opposite me to leap up towards the forecastle and lean over the prow like a figurehead. 

Esther turns to me, while trying to right the wheel as we push out from the dock, still with no destination in sight. “Where should I—”

“I have no clue yet.” 

I don’t take my eyes off Kirstie as her hands wave out towards the main entrance to the cove and we exchange a curt shake of our heads. 

There’s no chance of us making it through there between the wind and the Navy.

We both turn to scan the rest of the visible cove stretching what must be miles down the shore—down _ wind. _ I’ve spent enough of the last few days pouring over books and goddamn maps of the stars, but  _ also _ of maps of this area, and if I remember right, there  _ should  _ be—

_ Yes! _

I whistle to Kirstin to get her attention, and then reach out and point towards the far side of the cove, way past the harbor and down the entire shoreline, towards a tiny break in the rock line surrounding the island. A break that we just might be able to squeeze through.

If there’s any chance of us making it all the way over there before the Navy catches up to us.

Kirstin turns away to peer at it, and when she turns back, her wide eyes and pinched mouth are unmistakable even through the dashing of people across the decks separating us.

I shrug helplessly and watch as Kirstin’s shoulders sink. Her head drops towards the floorboards, and one hand settles on her hip as the other reaches up to press over her mouth. 

I hold my breath. 

Just for a moment, the entire ship seems to pause and glance at her. If she says no, we’ll be stuck and—and we won’t abandon ship. We’ll go to the noose or the bottom of the cove before we abandon ship.

If she says yes, we’re dooming ourselves to an escape route that we can’t dream of reaching before the Navy ship reaches us. 

It’s death by hanging, or death by drowning.

Captain’s choice.

Kirstin’s head lifts and she stares straight at me. A short nod. And the boat erupts into motion again.

I turn to Esther and point out our hopeless destination. “Angle the rutter out as much as you can. We’re going parallel to the shore, down to that break.”

I only wait long enough to see the beginnings of the fine adjustments that’ll angle us out from the beach, but not all the way into the wind, before I’m scurrying back down the stairs to the main deck and watching the long glance between Matt and Austin.

_ They’re gonna prep the port cannons. Just in case. _

This is really happening, then. Fuck.

Short Ben’s voice floats down from the crow’s nest, calling out adjustments and warnings and obstacles in the shallow waters. Someone brushes past my shoulder, and the hand that grabs the net next to me is the only thing that keeps my knees from going out with the next rolling wave. Leigh appeared in front of me, holding a map of the area. 

“If we can get out—” she avoids my eyes and gulps, “ _ when _ we get out of the cove, where are you thinking we should aim for?”

Trying to focus my eyes on the paper feels like when I tried to lift an anchor for the first time. 

“Um…”

_ Fucking think, Scott. You don’t have much time to figure this out. _

There’s a cluster of islands not too far to the southeast. We could probably find one of them if we don’t get blown too far south by the wind. 

“Tell Kirstin I said,” I squint at the fine scribble next to the islands, “Lost Man’s Isles.”

Depressing name, depressing odds.

She vanishes back into the frenzy, leaving me once again staring down at my hand clinging to the net. I flick my gaze out to the shore to my right, the starboard side.

At least we’re moving. A bit. God, I could probably run faster than this. 

Another wave tosses the  _ Lament _ and I stumble, grabbing for the firm rail instead of the loose rope. I turn my head back around to port, watching the waves approach us. 

Watching the Navy ship drift towards us. 

If the patrol ship knows who we are already, then what chance did we ever have here? We must’ve been found out yesterday, or this morning, maybe. The Navy has been toying with us. Keeping us lulled into safety in the cove until the wind betrayed us and trapped us.

And there’s nothing else I can do now.

I gaze helplessly around the emptying deck, listening to the sounds of yelling and creaking from the gun deck below me. At the very least, we won’t be going down without a fight. My eyes scan the ship completely without my permission as though they’re trying to soak in the sight one last time. They pause on Kirstin, still standing at the forecastle right above the prow with her hand pressed over her mouth, staring at the wall of rock far ahead of us.

This won’t be the last time.  _ We can make it. _

My feet move me closer until I’m standing next to her. She doesn’t turn to look at me.

“Welcome back?” I try half-heartedly.

A thin smile peeks out from under her hand. “Thanks.”

I cross my arms and try not to look at the Navy again. “Did you get the opal thing?”

“The necklace? No.” She doesn’t even sound that disappointed, just frustrated. “Damn thing’s been gifted away. Rumor has it, we’d have to go to Blackrock Key to find it.”

I groan. I don’t even know what to say to that. How can I try to offer an optimistic plan or—or  _ anything _ useful when we might all be dead in an hour? A day,  _ max.  _ If the Navy manages to take any of us alive. 

I don’t want to, but there’s one thing I could do right now. I break the silence with my hesitant question.

“Should I get the box ready? Just in case?”

Kirstie’s eyes close. When she speaks, it’s barely a whisper. “Yeah. Probably.”

“We won’t have to burn it. Just watch.”

“I’m gonna kill you if you’re wrong, Scott.”

I laugh half-heartedly and my eyes betray me by sliding towards the patrol ship again. “You’ll have to get in line for that.”

_ It’s just a precaution,  _ I try to convince myself as the adrenaline starts to rush, giving me the strength to cross back down over the main deck and up the quarterdeck to the captain’s cabin.

So many stairs on this damn boat.

The bookshelves are my first stop. Tucked between volumes are loose papers. Our papers. Not much use to us if we die, but it’s a  _ huge _ inconvenience to the Navy to be unable to identify our bodies. If it ends with the noose.

If they decide to board instead of round off and load their cannons, they’ll take us alive. To make an  _ example _ of us. They won’t shoot us or cut us down with swords here. They think they’re too  _ classy _ to let our blood water our own decks.

I can’t decide which end I would prefer. I think I’m leaning towards drowning, because they  _ better _ not put their soiled shoes on our ship. Her sweet, mud tracked, wood paneling deserves better than that. 

I carefully count the papers and place them in a small box. I debate just leaving Kirstin’s papers, but no. It would be one last fuck you, to give them  _ only _ her papers when they refuse to acknowledge her authority—spitefully insisting that  _ I  _ am the captain, or even  _ Kevin  _ sometimes—but Kirstie would have told me to leave them if she wanted that. 

She wants to look them in the eye and tell them that  _ she’s _ the captain, not tease them with snippets of information that they would just disregard in their victory speech, like they always do in their wanted posters and damning announcements to plundered towns.

I reach for the desk drawers next. Inside are more papers, but not ours. These are stolen. Deeds. Charters. Other people’s papers. Documents that declare ownership of anyone or anything the Navy or the crown shouldn’t— _ won’t _ —own. Not while we have anything to say about it. 

As boring and freakishly expensive as stealing and forging paperwork can be, it sure does piss off a lot of powdered wigs. I smile grimly at the little box.

The last paper is under the floorboard. I don’t want to pry it out—don’t want to remove it from its home. Untouched since the first day we took the  _ Lament _ . 

I pry the floorboard up. A wave tips me to the side easily, thunking me down on my ass next to the hole in the floor revealing the original Navy registration of the  _ Lament _ . The one Kirstin, Avi, Esther, and I had altered to declare the ship’s freedom when we had finally escaped the Academy and the Navy ships hopelessly trying to stop our ridiculous getaway. 

The one that’ll be added to the box and burned as soon the first cannon shot rings or the Navy boards us.

A distant voice shouting my name sends a flood of relief through me and tugs my outstretched fingers back from the paper. It doesn’t need to move yet. We have a bit more time.

I hurry back out onto the quarterdeck and freeze. I scan the suddenly still, crowded decks for Kirstin. Unease curls through me at our stationary crew on the main deck, all looking up at me, the lone figure on the quarterdeck. I’m the only one who had been missing, sans Esther at the wheel and Short Ben watching carefully from the crow’s nest yet. 

And Avi, of course. 

Kirstin’s standing below me with one hand on the starboard side rail, closest to the beach. She beckons me with a nod. 

Everyone watches in silence as I shuffle down the steps to join her at the starboard rail. Is she about to give a rallying speech, or a goodbye?

But she does neither. She stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable in her eyes, before she nods her head towards the water below us. 

Uh. 

Does she want me to jump? I stare at her in confusion for another second, trying to figure out why she’s implying we’re abandoning ship, because we’ve all agreed, that’s  _ never _ an option, before I follow her eyes down to—

Oh. 

Well  _ that _ would explain the crowd.

“What the  _ fuck,  _ Scott,” she says simply.

I’m still staring down at the merman’s face, calmly staring right back at me from the water fifty feet below us.

“Uh,” I say. I look back at Kirstin and she’s rubbing her forehead.

“Next time,” she sighs, “ _ tell _ someone before you’re gonna go do something stupid.”

“So we can watch,” pipes up a voice from the crew.

Kevin turns from where he’s leaning beside me to glare at Matt. “So we can make sure he doesn’t get his ass handed to him by a mer.”

“ _ Siren, _ ” someone hisses.

I look back at Kirstin, surprised that she would snap at Kevin like that, but she’s not looking at Kevin, and she very clearly does not look like she had just yelled. She’s looking down at the merman again and I follow her gaze just fast enough to watch the scowl on his face part enough for him to hiss up at us, “I am not a fucking  _ mer.” _

So he  _ does  _ speak English.

I don’t look away from the siren _ ,  _ but I can feel Kevin leaning over the rail behind me to call out, “Apologies _.” _

There’s a difference between a siren and a mer? Never mind, now clearly isn’t the time to ask. Everyone seems to glance at each other and a quiet mumble starts to build, but I just look back at Kirstin, who’s leaning on the rail heavily and glaring at me again. 

Maybe my confusion is a little more obvious than I think. In my defense, what the fuck is happening right now?

“So,” her voice cuts quickly through the rising gossip, “you seem to have landed yourself with a siren who owes you a _ Life Debt _ . Scott,” (yeah, if we get out of here, I’m getting a speech tonight, and probably some extra night watch shifts), “care to explain how this happened?”

I shrug cautiously and glance back down at the siren, still floating along easily with the slow rate of the ship. “He was tangled in a trawling net, so I cut him out. That’s all.”

Someone laughs, and at least two people snort. I can see Leigh turn away from us with her hand pressed over a grin out of the corner of my eye. 

Kirstin has her signature  _ Scott, you dumbass _ look on her face and she shakes her head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but good job.”

...Wait, what?

“You might’ve just used your actually, completely  _ idiotic  _ move to buy us a way out of here.”

Could someone maybe explain to me why I’m not in trouble, please?

This time, I recognize the siren’s voice. “If you accept my offer, I will redeem my Debt by distracting the Navy ship so you can try to escape the cove.”

I blink at them. And then blink back at Kirstin. And then over by Kevin. They’re all waiting expectantly. I don’t really see how one siren is going to help us now, but sure? I guess.

“Uh, okay?”

I hear someone say “thank  _ God” _ , and the crew—minus Hunk Ben for a moment as he leans over to exchange a quick peck with Kirstie before joining the crowd—starts to shuffle through the door towards the kitchen and cabins below deck. Even Short Ben is crawling his way down the rigging. I glance back at the water, just to find that the _siren_ has disappeared, too. The only people not moving are me, Kirstin, Kevin, and Esther up at the wheel. 

“Wait, what’s happening?” I turn to Kevin, and he covers a laugh with a cough. 

“The siren is going to pay off his Life Debt by saving your, and by association,  _ our _ collective, ass.”

Yes, genius, I know  _ that.  _ But like, you would think there would be a longer discussion about how this is going to play out now. 

“Alright…” I wave my hand in a circle to hopefully prompt a bit more  _ useful  _ information out of them. They just look back at me though. Fine. Then I will  _ ask.  _ Happy, guys?

“And  _ how  _ is he going to do that?”

Kirstin and Kevin look at each other. Huh, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen  _ Kevin _ do the  _ Scott, you dumbass _ expression. It’s almost worth the curl of irritation in my gut. 

“ _ What is happening. _ ”

Kevin pats Kirstin on the shoulder and chuckles his way over to the stairs. 

“Kirstie…” I whine. 

She sets her hands on her hips and stares at me. If she wasn’t my best friend, I would be a little intimidated by her look. “Scott. If a siren is planning on distracting a bunch of sailors, what do you think they’re going to do?”

Sirens are part fish, so maybe he’ll grab a fishing line and invade the ship when they reel him in? But I don’t think people fish off of Navy ships, let alone when they’re about to overrun a pirate—

_ Oh. _

Right. I definitely deserved Kevin’s  _ dumbass _ look. “So, he’s gonna sing?”

She looks at me weirdly. “No. He’s going to _Chant._ Do you… know anything about sirens?”  
“I know they’re not the same as mer?” Well, now I do, at least. 

She laughs and starts climbing towards the poop deck, where Esther still waits patiently with her hands on the wheel. “Just go ask Avi about mer and sirens, or something—I’m sure he knows a bunch about them. I’ve got a ship to sail.” 

I give a mock salute and momentarily ignore my confusion to appreciate the lightness in her laughter that was not present earlier, before the siren showed up, promising her a  _ chance. _

The crew seems to be split between the dining room and their cabins down below, but I follow Kirstin’s suggestion and pass through the crowded, rowdy dining room to the kitchen.

Avi’s sitting on the kitchen counter eating an apple (no potatoes in sight) when I walk in—and promptly stumble again at another harsh wave. He doesn’t say anything about it this time and waits patiently for me to grab a stool and sit down before I get knocked on my ass for the second time today. 

I fold my hands on the counter and take a deep breath while he watches me. “So…” I clear my throat. If I word this right, he’ll never have to know about my  _ poorly thought out _ siren rescue a few days ago. “Would you—hypothetically—happen to know anything about mer? And… sirens?”

He rolls his eyes. “Scott. I know you’re blond—”

“ _ Hey— _ ”

“—but you really cannot go pulling something that stupid again.”

So much for getting away with it.

“...So I take it someone filled you in?”

“Mhm,” he takes a bite of his apple. “Did you think that everyone just went to their rooms and forgot to fill in their  _ favorite _ person, slaving away to cook a dinner that might not get eaten?”

I glance around the kitchen. “You’re not cooking anything.”

“But I could be.”

I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “Fine, then oh great, wise, chef. Do tell me the tale of the mer. And sirens. Please.”

Avi takes another slow bite of his apple and clearly enjoys my cluelessness. Which is starting to get a little annoying by now. “What do you know about mer? Like,  _ actually _ know. Not just  _ Scott _ know?”

I grumble something about not being absolutely clueless, but this time I might actually be. What  _ do _ I know, actually?

I tick the minimal knowledge I can recall the Academy teaching us off on my fingers. “They have tails, mer live and hunt in pods, they can attack people, and the Navy hates them because they can also attack  _ Navy _ people. Um…” What was the other thing Kirstie mentioned? “Oh! And singing is  _ not _ the same as chanting.”

Avi takes another bite of the apple and stares hard at me. “So basically nothing.”

Oh fuck off, Avi. I just listed, like,  _ five _ things I’m fairly sure of. “I have the basics, thank you very much.”

He nods reluctantly. “I suppose.” He pauses for a second and squints at his apple while he plans his words. 

“Sirens are very similar to mer. They’re… like people with blue eyes. Rare, and they blend in with the rest of the population—mer—unless you get up close and figure out the difference.”

“What  _ is _ the difference though?”

“The one we’re dealing with today is Chanting,” he explains. “Sirens can Chant. Mer can only sing. Singing is just singing. But _Chanting_ is—it’s the kind where a sailor hears the Chant and sees what they want most in life. Like, desperately want, more than anything else.”

“Yeah, I could see how that could be a valid distraction technique.” I laugh. 

He nods grimly. “Especially when the sailor loses their grip on reality, trapped in their own fantasy, while their body follows the siren’s call and launches themselves into the water. Where they drown. Thus you hear the legends of ships sinking and fires starting, et cetera.” 

Oh. 

That’s—that’s kind of fucked up.

“I think I just agreed to make a siren do that,” I realize. 

“Mhm.” He takes another bite of the apple to give me a chance to process. “It’s life or death, Scott. Us,” he nods towards the wall, “or  _ them _ .”

True. And there’s no way the Navy is outliving me today. Still, it’s an awful fate, isn’t it?

“...You good there, Scott?”

I’m going to have to be. This is the only way I have the  _ chance  _ to be fine. If the siren Chants while Kirstie sails us out of the cove and away from the Navy—

Wait.

“What about Kirstie?!” I gasp, and a wave knocks me back into my chair despite my attempt to jump up and go drag her down here. She doesn’t need to be the one steering us out of the cove—I can do that, anyone else can do that but not  _ her _ —

“Scott!” Avi’s sharp tone distracts me, and he grabs my arm to settle me. When did he get off the counter? “Do you honestly think we were just letting her go to her  _ death?” _

Well, no.

“Kirstin is  _ fine _ . She’s wearing earplugs so she can’t hear the song. And before you fight me on this, she  _ has _ to be the one steering, because she already knows what she wants most in the world. She won’t be tempted to take out the earplugs and listen.”

Oh, thank God. I slump back into my chair with obvious, visible relief.

Avi chucks his apple core at his little compost bucket in the corner of the kitchen—and makes it, of course. “Besides, she probably won't die if something goes wrong. The siren would save her, or risk the Debt not being fulfilled.”

Well wouldn’t that be  _ nice _ of him. “Debts are a really big deal to mer and sirens then?” I’ve never heard of a Life Debt being a big deal to a human before. Sure, some people take “a life for a life” seriously, but not many.

Avi nods, “They take them  _ very  _ seriously. A mer—or siren—has to be absolutely  _ sure _ that they’re on their deathbed for a Debt to form, so they’re rare. But if it does form, they  _ have _ to fulfill it.”

I don’t really want to ask. But I do anyway. “...Or what?”

Avi shrugs. “They die.”

I blow out one long, slow breath. Today has gone from weird to I-don’t-know-if-this-can-actually-get-weirder. “That got dark.”

“You asked.” 

“Technically, Kirstin told me to ask you. So she asked.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Quartermaster, sir.”

I stick my tongue out. I need to invest in some comebacks, because the ones I have now suck more than any imaginary hookup of mine would. 

“Anything else I should know?” 

Avi thinks about it for a second. “Don’t approach any others again. You said you know mer live in pods, so you also know you’re lucky to have found a lone siren. Mer can be brutal.” 

I mean, I  _ know _ that. The Navy wouldn’t be constantly trying to round mer up if they weren’t dangerous to humans. The education the Academy provides on mer is limited at best, but they clearly know how deadly mer can be if they are  _ that _ hostile to them. 

“I mean it, Scott.” Avi’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Don’t go talking to any lone mer.”

I raise my eyebrow at him when his serious face relaxes gently into a smile, and he chuckles. “How is that funny?”

He waves me off and slides off the counter. “Nothing. I wasn’t planning anything in particular for dinner. Have any ideas?”

Nice deflection. 

“No potatoes.”

Avi sighs dramatically. “Fine. Yams it is.”

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever actually had a yam. “Can I help?” It’s not like I have anything else to do except worry. And we might be down here a long time.

Avi narrows his eyes and looks me up and down. “Hm. I will find  _ something _ for you. With no knives or the stove, got it?”

“That was  _ one _ time.”

“Yes, one time. In which you managed to get banned from knives  _ and  _ everything fire-related.”

I mean  _ yeah _ . But I fixed the ceiling and I got us a new stove. Which—in my opinion—is much better than the old one anyways. “What if you  _ supervise _ me? We’ve got plenty of time.”

Avi pulls a knife out of the drawer as the ship tosses roughly again. “Maybe we should wait for the wind to calm down first.”

Between his logic and random, reliable knowledge about just about anything, maybe Avi actually  _ is _ our on-board genius. 


End file.
